Finding Neal
by Brownie94
Summary: AU:Extenuating circumstances reveal that Neal Caffrey doesn't exist.So who exactly is the charming conman that Peter chased for 3 years, put in jail,& is now working with? Peter's about to find out and the truth is going to change his and Elizabeth's life
1. Prologue

Hey!! White Collar is my new obsession and Neal Caffrey my inspiration. So for all those who think that Peter acts like he's Neal's dad, here's my fic. Hope you like it, Love Brownie 

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 1: Prologue

Peter sat slumped on his uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, his elbows resting on his knees and his head cradled between his hands, thinking about the events that had taken place over three hours ago.

**************************************************

Over 3 hours ago

_"Hey," yelled Neal, as he ran toward him, a serious look covering his usually relaxed face, and causing Peter to turn to face him. He came to a halt in front of Peter, only to take off again after he'd said, "We're jamming his call, get the belt off of her. Do it! Do it!"_

_Peter refrained himself from commenting on Neal giving him orders because he knew the kid meant well and turned to face the terrified model. Ruthlessly suppressing every instinct that told him to run after Neal and make sure he didn't do anything stupid and get himself hurt, Peter thought, __**Neal's a big boy, he can take care of himself**__, and focused his attention on doing his job._

_Just when he'd successfully removed the belt, he heard the loud bang that he associated with a gunshot, and, before he knew it, his feet were moving toward the path that he'd seen Neal take less than three minutes ago, the belt aka potential explosive still in hand. __**Damn it, I knew I should have followed him! He's gone and gotten someone hurt.**_

_He arrived at the scene of the crime, where the shot had been fired to see Lauren Cruz, his new agent bent over, her weight resting on her heels and her back facing him. He also saw Neal next to her, his back leaning against the trunk of a huge oak tree, his eyes closed, his head tipped back as if he didn't have a care in the world, and saw red. And, before he knew it, he was standing next to Neal, grabbing him by the white collar of his precious Devour shirt and slamming him against the tree, causing his fedora to fall to the ground._

_He didn't register the groan of pain that escaped Neal's mouth at his action and started ranting, "I told you, one wrong move and you're back in prison. Now you've gone and got someone hur…"_

"_Stop it!" interrupted Lauren, who was now standing and trying to peel Peter's hands off Neal's collar, "Can't you see; you're hurting him!" This time, Peter heard Neal's groan as he was jarred in their struggled and jumped back as if he'd been burned, causing Neal to slide how the tree, leaving a trail of red behind him. He saw Lauren kneel next to Neal, so that she could pull him forward, causing his head to fall and rest on her shoulder, giving her access to his wound. Taking advantage of that fact, she wrapped her arms around him and, then, without warning, pressed down on the bleeding wound on his back. Neal's only reaction was a shudder, before he was back in his position._

_Worried, Lauren tipped Neal's head back, revealing dazed eyes, and placed her hand on his head, before turning to look at Peter and said, "His skin is clammy and cold."_

_"He's going into shock," explained Peter as he knelt down next to Lauren, shrugged his jacket off, and tied it around the GSW on Neal's back, wincing at the howl of pain that resulted from the action, and unconsciously shifted Neal so that now he was in his arms. It was such a contrast to the way that he'd just been with Lauren that Peter couldn't help, but notice the little sigh that escaped Neal, as if he thought that no harm could come to him while he was with Peter, and the way he practically melted into his arms. _

**************************************************

He was jarred from his thoughts by the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder and the sound of that same person calling, "Sir? Sir, I need to check you out."

"What?" asked Peter, "I'm okay, I wasn't hurt." Even as he said it, Peter knew that the nurse wasn't convinced and he figured out why when he followed her line of sight of his clothes. His pants and shirt were fine, but the rolled up sleeves of his shirt and his arms and hands were drenched in blood – Neal's blood.

"This..," he started, his voice hitching, "This isn't my blood; it's my partner's." There he'd said it.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the flustered, elderly Latino lady, who obviously had no idea what to say, "Would you like to get cleaned up? I could get you a clean pair of scrubs."

"Yeah, thanks. That'd be great actually," answered Peter, as he pushed himself up from the uncomfortable chair.

"Okay, the staff showers are just down that hallway – first door to the right," said the kindly woman pointing to Peter's left.

Peter started to walk toward the aforementioned door, then paused and turned back toward nurse, looking at her nametag, before saying, "Um, Sam, my partner…his name is Neal Caffrey; could you tell his doctor to find me and update me, as soon as he can."

"Sure, Honey," she assured, then, after hesitating, continued, "And I'm positive that your boyfriend is fine."

Peter blushed bright red when he realized what the woman had thought when he'd said the word "partners" and quickly went about setting her straight, "He's not…We aren't...I am a cop,"

Now it was Sam's turn to blush, but she didn't stammer her way through an exclamation, Peter guessed confidence was a trait that was perfected throughout the years. "Oh. So you work with you son?" she questioned.

"Why would you think that?" Peter answered her question with one of his own.

"Because the worry that I'm seeing on your face; I've only ever seen that worry on the face of parents, when their children are hurt, and lovers, when their spouses have come to harm."

Peter didn't know what to make of that or how he should respond, so he settled for, "Oh, okay, I'm gonna go take that shower," and waited for her nod before he left.

As he stared at his bloodied hands, Peter wished that he'd adhered to his instincts, but more importantly that he'd trusted Neal, _Come on, the kid didn't even use a gun._

**************************************************

_At the Nurse's station_

Samantha Juliana Cortez tried to pull up Neal Caffrey's file, but kept coming up blank. Finally, after her fifth try, she called her shift supervisor, Pete Brewing, who happened to be Neal's surgeon and attending physician.

He showed up twenty minutes later, the front of his scrubs bloodstained and peeling off his surgical gloves, "What's up?"

"It's about your new patient: Neal Caffrey."

"What about him?" asked Peter, as he dispensed some Germ-Ex onto his hand and went about ridding his hands of germs.

"I can't pull up his files."

"That's because Neal Caffrey doesn't exist," declared a third voice that had joined their conversation, causing Sam to jump. When her heart stopped racing, she turned her head toward the direction of the voice to see a semi-bald, excessive, but sharply dressed man, who was wearing glasses step out of the shadows and into the light.

…TBC…

(If you want me to)

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	2. My Baby

Hey, Guys!! I was so thankful for your brilliant response that I decided to gift y'all with a new chapter, despite my extremely busy schedule. (We're moving so I gotta help my mom pack) Anywho, Hope you like this chapter just as much, if not more, Love Brownie

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 2: My Baby

"Code Blue, room 203. I repeat Code Blue," Peter shouted as he ran through the hallway, knocking into a man wearing orange scrubs in the process, but not pausing to apologize. The man who'd just told him the information that lead him to assume something was going to go wrong with his patient, "Mozzie", was right at his heels.

He cared about the kid, Brewing had to give him that. He arrived at the room just in time to see his patient flatline and, pushing Mozzie out of the room when he tried to get in, he yelled, "Get me a crash cart and a defib."

By the time the cart came through, about thirty seconds, he'd had to kick two more people, a man wearing orange scrubs and a woman with long, black hair, out. He quickly grabbed the gel and applied it over the kid's left precordium and on his side in the region between his scapula. Then grabbing the defibrillator, he told the young resident who had pushed the crash cart into the room, "Charge – 200" and then, declared, "Clear," before pushing the paddles into the gelled areas.

He watched the boy's body go taut, then sighed in relief, "We got him." He, then, motioned the resident to come closer and said, "Get the kid moved to PICU and change the name on his chart to Neal Bomer." And, when the 23 year old just stared at him blankly, he reinforced, "Do it."

He then exited the room to face the family of, one, Neal Bomer. Facing who he assumed were the worried parents, he started explaining, "Neal was shot at close range in the back, but luckily it was a through and through and missed any major organs. He should bounce right back in a month or two."

"Then why did he just crash?" asked Burke worriedly.

Ignoring the way that Mozzie was moving his hand in front of his neck in a recognizable gesture that everyone knew meant "_Bad idea" _because he was a firm believer in the fact that parents should know everything about their children, Brewing answered, "We were told that he was 32, so we gave him an adult dose of Lidocaine, and excessive amounts of Lidocaine can cause many adverse reactions including cardiac arrest."

Elizabeth nodded, then rescinded, "I don't get it."

Doctor Brewing didn't know what was not to get, but tried to put it in simpler terms anyway, "We gave your seventeen year old son, a dose of Lidocaine that was meant for a thirty-two year old. That's almost double the amount that he required."

"Neal's not seventeen," asserted Peter Burke, "He's thirty-two."

Brewing opened his mouth to tell him otherwise, but Mozzie beat him to it, "You know who I am?" he asked.

"Yeah," replied Burke, "You're Neal's informant, right?"

"Yes, so believe me when I say Neal **is** seventeen. He was placed in a foster home after his adoptive parents died, when he was four. He ran away a year later and that's when I found him, running from CPS. We came up with Neal Caffrey, son of Moseley Caffrey, that's me, if you haven't guessed. That was when Neal Bomer dis…"

He trailed off when he heard Elizabeth gasp, her eyes going wide, and her hands covering her mouth. She was hyperventilating, so Peter took her over to a bench and waited for her to calm down, all the time telling her, "Breathe, El, breathe."

He sighed in relief when she calmed down, but then she started crying, making him feel as though it was his turn to start hyperventilating. He wrapped his arms around his wife, feeling her tears stain his scrubs and asked, "What's wrong, Elle?"

It took a while and he had to concentrate to hear it, but she answered, "God, I've been looking for him forever, Peter, and he's been under our noses for a month."

Peter didn't like to admit it, but he was confused and he said as much, "What?"

Elizabeth pulled herself out of his arms and wiped her face before answering, "Peter, you remember when we broke up?"

"Yeah," answered Peter, "But I don't get how this has anything to do with that."

"I was pregnant, Peter," Elizabeth got up the courage to tell Peter what she'd wanted to tell him for eighteen years, "But I knew how much you wanted to be a Fed and you told me that you didn't think we'd work out, so I decided that I was going to give my son up for adoption."

"Liz," mumbled Peter, staring at her disbelievingly.

"You have to understand, Peter, I grew up without a father and I always felt as though something was missing, you know, and I didn't want my kid to go through that," Elizabeth tried to explain, tears flowing freely down her beautiful face.

"God, El, why didn't you tell me when I came back?" asked Peter, wrapping her in his arms once more, even as his own eyes started to tear up.

"I didn't want to tell you until I found him," she answered.

"And did you?"

"Yeah, he'd been adopted and I went down to the house with the Social Service's lady, but I saw him in the park, Peter, and he was _so_ happy and they obviously loved him." She paused to look him in the eyes and asked, "How could I take him away from the only family he'd ever known? I couldn't do it, but God knows I wanted to. God knows I wanted to."

"God, El, I can't believe you didn't tell me," he murmured again, his face buried in her hair so that no one would see the tears that were falling from his eyes.

"You told me you didn't want me, Peter, and I wanted my baby to have a full life, but that doesn't matter anymore, he's right there. My baby, Peter," she said as she got up, walked into his temporary, ICU room, and slid her hand into his. As she used her right hand to smooth away the stray hair that had fallen into his face, she repeated, "My baby."

…TBC…

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	3. Fourteen Years Ago

Hey, Guys!! This is totally unrelated, but for anyone who hasn't seen it, I recommend New Moon. Me and my friends went to see it and it was excellent.

Thanks for the reviews; they make me feel like a fat kid who just got cake. So, a lot of people have been going, how did Elizabeth know that Neal was her son. Well, here's your answer. Remember, Mozzie said Neal Bomer.

Anywho, Hope you like this chapter just as much, if not more than the previous ones, Love Brownie

I think I deserve extra cookies for writing this in one go; it took me 5 hours to get it just right.

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 3: Fourteen Years Ago

Elizabeth Burke woke up amidst the hospital chaos feeling more at peace than she had in seventeen years, since the wretched day when she had decided to give her 3-day-old baby up for adoption in order for him to have a more complete life. She pushed herself up, moving her face from the hospital bed and stared at its, now, sole occupant: her son, and slipped her hand into his, letting its warmth and the beeping of the heart monitor comfort her.

She was working on imprinting his every feature into memory, when she felt his hand squeeze hers. She waited a minute for him to repeat the action, but, when he didn't, she convinced herself that it had just been a figment of her imagination. As she gazed at his mop of curly, brown hair and angelic face, she found her thoughts drifting back to a day, some fourteen years ago, that had lead her to make the decision to let go of her son a second time.

* * *

_Fourteen Years Ago: Central Park, NYC, New York_

_Elizabeth's body was vibrating with restrained energy as she practically skipped along the sidewalk followed by a professional-looking woman walking at a more sedate pace. The woman was dressed in a formal, black skirt with a lacy, beige top, and brown-rimmed glasses, which contrasted neatly with her blonde hair, which she'd pulled up into a formal bun. Her companion's appearance was the exact opposite of hers, it was more casual: consisting of a pair of flaring jeans, a gray, printed, vee top, and black Chucks._

_As they neared their destination, Elizabeth's face took on a worried expression and she slowed her pace to match her companion's, then asked, "Isabella, they're still going to meet us at the Safari Playground, aren't they?"_

_Isabella Lake turned to face her client and answered the question the same way that she had answered it the five times other times she'd been asked it, "Yes, Elizabeth, they are. They called to say they were already here and to call them when we arrive."_

"_All right, just making sure," a pause, then, "Can I see the file?"_

"_I…Sure," answered Mrs. Lake, transferring the red file from her hand to Elizabeth's. The younger of the two opened the file and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the picture of a bright-blue eyed boy, with curly brown hair wearing a Cheshire cat grin, which revealed two missing front teeth (he hadn't gotten all his teeth yet), and a brown, vintage-style, knickers outfit with matching suspenders, bowtie, and newsboy cap. He was the epitome of the word adorable and Elizabeth had to confirm what she already knew, "Is that…?"_

_Isabella responded with a smile as she too peered at the picture, "Yes, Elizabeth, that's him: Neal Bomer, your son and they…" she paused to flip the page to reveal a picture of a handsome looking couple: a lithe, blonde-haired man and a tan woman, who resembled a model, who were interlocked in an embrace, "are his adopted parents: the Bomers, Nate and Eve."_

_Elizabeth flipped another page and spotted another picture this time of the two Bomer men. They were wearing matching, blue, OP Hawaiian swim trunks with a floral print and the younger of the two was in the process of burying his father in the sand and had a gleeful smile covering his face, while the elder looked on with an indulgent smile covering his own face. Looking at the picture that had obviously managed to capture a fleeting, but great moment in her son's life, Elizabeth began to have doubts about her decision of reclaiming her son, but ruthlessly suppressed them with the thought, __**It's just a picture, and like Peter always says, "things aren't always as they seem, you have to look deeper."**_

_Elizabeth flipped back to the first page and, when Isabella turned away, took that moment to pull out the picture of her son, then quickly stuffing it in her Coach purse, shut the folder and returned it to the Social Services' worker. They continued walking and were about to round the renowned Central Park Carousel when Elizabeth heard it, "Neal! Baby, smile," and stopped._

_Her heart was racing when she turned her head, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw him, her baby, his tiny hands gripping onto the textured pole connected to the top of one the beautiful, hand-carved stallions - the brown one, to be exact - with all his might as he tried to smile bravely at the woman who had asked him to smile. The woman who he, with no doubt, considered his mother and, who, for all intents and purposes, was his mother was crouching with a pink camera and had probably captured another great picture for the album. This one with the apple of their eyes, as she'd now realized he was, wearing brown, plaid shorts with aqua blue and cream stripes and a complementing aqua blue polo._

_Before she knew it, her feet were carrying her towards the carousel and, when it was finally within her hand's reach, it came to a stop. She walked with purpose toward Neal, but was beat to it by two people, whom she quickly identified as Nate and Eve Bomer. She forced herself to stay back and watched as Nate Bomer picked Neal up and swung him up into his arms._

_She didn't even notice when Isabella, who'd finally manage to find her, came and stood behind her. She was too caught up in watching her son as he burrowed into, who he considered, his dad, when said Dad asked, "So, Buddy, did you like it?"_

_The blonde chuckled and answered his own question, "I guess that's a no."_

_His wife playfully slapped his arm and reprimanded him, "Don't make fun of my baby, he just wanted to do something else. Isn't that right, Baby?"_

_Baby, who had previously had his face buried in his Dad's shoulder, peered over Nate's shoulder at his mom with his ethereal eyes, "Uh huh."_

"_K, Champ," started Nate as he shifted Neal so that he, too, could look into his eyes and asked, "What __**do**__ you wanna do?"_

_Neal's eyes sparkled brighter, if that was possible, "I wanna go see the weopards, Daddy!"_

"_All righty, Champ. To the weopards we go," replied the Daddy, fighting valiantly to stifle his smile and succeeding. _

"_Hun," interrupted Eve, before they could start heading for the Central Park Zoo, "It's 1:20 and we have…um…an appointment for 1:35."_

"_Oh, yeah," responded Nate, his mood turning somber and his grip on his son tightening, "I forgot."_

_Eve rubbed her husband's arm, the one that was holding their progeny and comforted, "It'll be okay, Honey, you'll see. If they actually care about their son, they'll see how happy he is. They'll let him go. They have to." _

_Nate turned to kiss the top of his wife's head and wrap his free arm around her, "He's ours, Evie, and I'm not giving him up without a fight. He's my son." He brought his hands up to wipe the tears that were escaping his wife's eyes, and soothed, "Don't cry, Love, we're not giving him up._

_Neal's head, which had quirked up when he'd heard the work cry, flitted between his parents before stopping at his mom. "Mommy?" he called, his hands reaching for her. She easily wrapped her arms around him, when her husband reluctantly transferred him and, in response, he wrapped one arm behind her neck for stability and placed the other on her cheek._

"_What's wong, Mommy?" he asked, peering into her brown eyes._

_The aforementioned eyes watered with emotion as she, in a voice thick with emotion, answered, "Nothing, Sweetheart," and then started peppering his little face with kisses._

_The tiny face reflected his enjoyment for a while, then took on a grimace when it did not stop until Nate interrupted, "Honey, we still have to go."_

_The not-so-little shower of kissed stopped and the tight-knit family started walking, but Neal did not stop in his interrogation, he wasn't anything if not persistent. "Daddy," he asked turning to face the man, "Daddy, what's wong and why is Mommy crwing?"_

_Nate's eyes began to tear a little as he answered, "Nothing's wrong, Buddy, your Mommy just loves you a lot."_

_Neal trusted his Daddy and, after turning back toward his mom, he declared, "I wove you too, Mommy," and then kissed her on the tip of her nose as if to prove it._

_Eve pulled her son toward herself and as they walked kept murmuring, "I know, Baby. I know."_

_When her baby peered at her over his mom's shoulder and his eyes showed no recognition before flipping back to his parents, Elizabeth came to a decision and turned to face Isabella._

"_I'm sorry," started Elizabeth, and cut the social worker off when she started to ask, "Why?"_

"_I'm sorry for wasting your time. Neal...he…" she paused to brace herself, "He's better off where he is, and I see that now."_

"_Are you sure?" asked Isabella, imploring her to answer truthfully._

_Elizabeth remembered what Eve had said and answered, "Yeah. He's happy here. He has parents who love him and I can't take away the only family he's ever known or take him away from them. They're a family now, they belong together." A pause, "Cancel the meeting, I've seen all I needed to see."_

_With that, looking more lost than she had ever before, Elizabeth made her way back home._

* * *

Stroking his hand with her thumb, Elizabeth repeated what Nate Bomer had told the same kid fourteen years ago, "Baby, your Mommy loves you a lot."

…TBC…

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	4. Peter, the Parrishes, and Poker

Hiya! For those who celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you had a fantastic Turkey Day. I recommend that you see The Blindside; it's fantabulous.

Thank you for the reviews, they inspire me to write and write better and make me happy.

Guys. I need your help. For those of you who know law, I was wondering what would the ramifications of Neal Caffrey not existing and Neal Bomer being seventeen be? Thanks for the help and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 4: Peter, the Parrishes, and Poker

Peter pulled into the St. Vincent's Hospital parking lot in a daze and, after finding an empty spot, turned off the engine, and allowed his head to slump tiredly onto the steering wheel, Letting his eyelids slip shut, he took a minute to prepare himself to face Neal…his son and Elizabeth. Trying his best to not think about what Lauren had told him twelve hours ago, Peter steeled himself and, after exiting the Taurus, started on the long trek to the hospital's side entrance.

His actions and Lauren's words haunted him with every step he took. Starting with the fact that he'd sent a seventeen-year-old _kid_, _his_ kid, to prison, albeit said kid had only served one and a half month of his, now, eight year sentence before escaping the Supermax and talking Peter into letting him consult.

In all actuality, it wasn't this, but a more recent action that was eating away at him. To be specific, the fact that he'd manhandled his son after he'd been _shot._ And the worst part was that he'd done it because he'd thought that Neal had endangered Lauren and gotten her hurt, whereas the truth was the exact opposite: Neal had saved Lauren's life at a risk to his own life. Would – could Neal forgive him for this? Could Elizabeth? And even if they did, could Peter?

Peter honestly didn't know, but he was a firm believer of the saying, "When you choose the action, you choose the consequence," and being aware of the fact that he'd already done the first part, he knew that it was time to face the consequences: starting with telling Elizabeth everything.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by, "I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be vi-o-let sky, I could be hur…" and it took him a while before he figured out it was his phone and cursed Neal for changing his ringtone. It took a moment of digging before he found his phone and, once he did, a quick glance at the caller-id told him it was Elizabeth. _Speaking of the Devil_, he flipped open the phone and made to say, "Hey," but was cut off by his wife's worried voice.

"Peter, it…it's Neal, he's missing."

Peter's first instinct was that Neal ran, but quickly squishing that thought, he quickened his pace to a run and, after saying, "I'll be there in a minute," he hung up. True to his word, Peter was there with a second to spare and immediately pulled his sobbing wife into his arms, consoling her as he ran his expert eyes over the room. Finding no oddities except the abandoned IV and little drops the blood that lead out of the room, he let go of his wife and made a beeline for the drops near the door. It took him a second to realize that these spatters were smaller, maybe because of a decrease in the altitude from which they had fallen, and what had happened.

Beckoning his wife to follow his lead, Peter followed the little droplets of blood all the way to a set of doors that, according to the sign, led to the Pediatrics Cancer Ward. Peeking through the little plastic parts of the door, they spotted Neal sitting on his wheelchair and peering across a little table at a little boy, who could at most have been ten years old and had his little elbows placed on the table and was staring at Neal intently.

"All right, Joey," Neal declared after a moment of silent contemplation, "I match your Babe Ruth and raise you a Reese's." Then, fumbling around in a bucket that was placed in his lap, he dropped the pieces of the aforementioned bet on the table.

Joey evened it up by placing a Reese's on the table and, then, stared up at Neal challengingly.

Neal eyes flickered between his cards and Joey, before he said, "I fold," and placed his cards face down onto the table.

Joey jumped off of his little chair and, as he made a show of collecting his winnings, declared, "I knew you were bluffing."

A smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Neal opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a familiar voice, "Oh, he's always bluffing, you're the first person who's caught him in a long time."

Neal's head turned to face Mozzie, who matter-of-factly tapped his watch, and his expression went sour before he faced Joey and said, "Hey, Buddy, I gotta go. My warden's here."

The smile that his victory had brought dropped from Joey's face when he heard those words and, chewing on his bottom lip, he asked, "You're leaving?"

Neal's expression effortlessly changed into a smile and he honestly answered, "Just for now, Kiddo. You'll see me again, I promise. They're only making me go, because I get really cranky if I don't get my beauty sleep."

Joey giggled and, after walking over to Neal, wrapped his arms around him, and said, "Bye, Neal. Wait…" He paused, keeping one arm wrapped around Neal's shoulder while he used the other to fumble around the table until he found what he was looking for. Offering his treasure…a Reese's to Neal, he said, "Here, it's your favorite."

Neal accepted the treat with a "thanks" and then offered it right back, "You know you don't need to give this to me to get me to come back, right?"

Joey didn't even think about it, he just answered, "Uh huh, but I want you to have it."

"All right, if you're sure," said Neal as he pocketed the little package of peanut-butter and chocolate-y goodness.

"I'm sure," confirmed Joey, then completing his hug once more, said, "See you, Neal."

"Later, Joey," responded Neal as Mozzie grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and began pushing toward the door, and, unknowingly, Elizabeth and Peter, who quickly hid behind a plant on the side of the door that was opposite the direction of Neal's room just in the nick of time. The door opened as soon as they'd moved and they heard Neal whining, "Mozz, come on!"

"Neal, you _have_ to stay in the hospital; you just got _shot_," responding Mozzie, sounding tired as though as he'd had this conversation a million times.

"So? A bunch of people get shot everyday and some of them don't even _go_ to hospitals," retorted Neal.

"That's because they probably don't have enough money to pay for a hospital stay," explained Mozzie as they rounded the corner to Neal's room.

"Lucky, frigging, poor people! Come on, Mozz, you know I hate hospitals," whinged Neal, his voice fading away as they moved farther away.

Thinking it was safe since they couldn't hear them anymore, Elizabeth and Peter came out of their hiding place. They sat in silence for a minute before Peter stuck his hand out to wipe the lone tear that was running down his wife's face, "What's wrong, El?"

Grabbing the hand that was on her face, Elizabeth adopted a teary smile and explained, "Nothing, I'm just…I'm so proud, Peter. I'm really proud of him."

Peter enveloped his wife in his arms once more and agreed, "Me too, El. Neal did good. He did real good."

Laughing, Elizabeth added, "I don't know what's wrong with me, I've been crying at the littlest things since yesterday."

They stayed in each other's arms until someone tapped Peter on the shoulder. They turned to face the teary-eyed couple, which consisted of a green-eyed man and a black-haired woman. "Um," started the man, "Are you guys Neal's parents?"

"Why do you ask?" inquired Elizabeth with an upraised eyebrow, thinking that there was something familiar about these people.

This time it was the woman who answered, "We're Nikki and Hunter Parrish, Joey's parents and we just wanted to thank you and your son."

"For what?" asked Peter, realizing that they were the parents of the boy who had given Neal a hug.

The woman…Nikki turned back toward the door and peered at her son through it. Waving back when he waved at her with a cheeky grin, "For that, my son…he hasn't laughed, smiled, or said anything since his brother died four months ago, not until your son met him today."

"I'm just…" she paused when her voice cracked and then gave Peter and Elizabeth each a long hug, "Thank you so much."

Then it was Hunter who spoke, handing Peter a business card, "I co-own the Parrish, Case, and Parker Law Firm at Rockefeller Plaza. So, if you _ever_ need anything, don't hesitate to call."

With one last, "thank you," the Parrishes made their way back to their son and as Peter and Elizabeth stared at their receding backs, they wondered, _Have any parents been as proud of their kid as we are of ours right now?_

This was when something that had been nagging at Peter before Nikki and Hunter had showed up came back to him and with a, "Wait here," he headed into the Children's ward and made a beeline for the table where Neal and Joey had been playing and turned up Neal's cards.

Staring at the royal flush that was lying on the table, Peter wondered if the better question would be, _Has there ever been a kid like Neal: an art thief who does the right thing?_

…TBC…

I'm sorry if this chapter sucks, but I honestly had to right it to bring Peter in. Thoughts?

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	5. Tucked In

Oh, my God…That episode, I loved it and hated it. I guess it's genius, the whole time I was like "It's not Peter, It's not Peter," and then it is Peter. My jaw was hurting when I finally shut it.

So, here's an inspired chapter. Thank you for the reviews, they inspire me to write and write better and make me happy. I especially want to thank Jules-Foil and Sirius7, both of whom offered me legal info, "Grazi." Anyway, enjoy and tell me your thoughts.

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 5: Tucked In

Elizabeth moved to enter the open doorway of Neal's room, but was stopped by her husband's outstretched arm, which he'd placed across her stomach, restricting her movement. She turned toward him, her mouth opening her to ask him what was wrong, but he stopped her once more, this time by placing his pointer finger across his lips, letting the others curl down, and tipping his head in the direction of Neal and – what was his name again – Mozzie. After Elizabeth got the message, the married couple leaned forward in unison and supervised – eavesdropped wasn't the right word – their son's conversation.

"Mozz, I can't believe you told them," whispered an angry Neal, who was sitting up on his elevated bed with a soft pillow placed under his back for maximum comfort.

"What was I supposed to do, Neal?" the recipient of his ire asked rhetorically from his spot on the chair that Elizabeth had resided on from day one of Neal's hospital stay. "They'd given you an _adult _dose of Lidocaine! You could've _died_ and you probably would have if I hadn't told your surgeon." He paused, and then softly said, "Anyway, I don't care if you're angry at me because I'd rather have you alive and angry at me than dead and not."

"I know. I know," said Neal, his angry look melting away into a frown as he ran his fingers through his curly locks in agitation, "It's just that…," he sighed, "I thought this was over with, you know. I was actually okay with this: I didn't have to stay at the Supermax for my entire sentence and I don't have to do something that'll become tedious. Heck, I might even be starting to like it." Then chewing his bottom lip red, he, looking up with his blue eyes at Mozzie through his mop of brown hair, asked, " What do you think they're going to do with a minor, who they sent to prison and who escaped from it?"

"I don't know, Neal," admitted Mozzie, "But I know that it'll be better shorter than eight years, whatever it is, _way _shorter. You might even get rid of your anklet," soothed Mozzie.

"It's a tracker, Mozz, not an anklet," affirmed Neal, his usual exuberance shining through, before he advocated, "All I did was forge bonds and that bank should've been gratified because, like Charles Caleb Colton said in 1820, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"Is that what you're gonna say in court?" queried Peter as he and Elizabeth finally entered the room after five minutes of quite "supervision."

Mozzie jumped at the interruption, "I knew you were there," he muttered at Peter after he'd recovered from the shock.

Neal ignored Mozzie, but didn't answer Peter's question either, instead with a straight face, he informed Peter, "Eavesdropping's against the law, you know." Then turning toward Elizabeth, he grinned a blinding smile, pearly-white teeth and all, "Hey, Elizabeth."

His blue eyes widened comically when he saw Elizabeth's bottom lip wobble in response to his greeting and then flitted over to Peter in panic, "Crap, what'd I do?" he asked, "Is she crying?" His question was answered when a teardrop, followed by many others, made its way down Elizabeth's face and he quickly placed his hands, palms-down, at his sides and made to push himself up. A second later, he crumbled down onto his side with a gasp of "Ouch," when his GSW made itself known.

He wrapped his arms around himself for comfort and whimpered as the pain that radiated from the right side of his lower back traveled up and down his body like molten lava that left a trace of fiery, white-hot pain in its wake. As the pain started to fade, he was aware of two hands on his body, one rubbing his upper back soothingly, while the other ran its fingers through his hair, moving his now sweat-soaked locks off of his face. It was when he could only feel the barest twinges of his earlier pain and when he felt like he wouldn't throw up the only thing he'd eaten all day: the Reese's that Joey had given him, that he attempted to open his eyes.

His eyelids flickered, coming to half-mast before flickering once more and revealing brilliant, azure orbs that had a glossy tinge to them. He blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes and stared at blue eyes that seemed familiar, before the person backed up, enabling him to see their face.

"Elizabeth," he tried to say, his voice cracking due to its dryness. "Water," he managed to croak after a bit of trying and before he knew it the hand that had been warming his back, soothing him, moved to gently help him up, while a third person brought him water. He quickly gulped down the water, following it with his head when someone pulled it away with, "Slow down, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Quickly recognizing Mozzie as the one who'd brought him the water, it took him a second to figure out that Elizabeth had been the one who'd ran her fingers through his hair, leaving Peter to be the one who'd been rubbing his back: the one who'd provided the most comfort. Turning his head confirmed his theory and his eyes flitted back to Elizabeth's smiling face, before he turned toward Peter and, tilting his head toward the man's wife, asked, "Is she pregnant? Cuz I could swear she was crying less than a minute ago."

Peter grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so, and answered, "Something like that."

"Oh, congratulations," he wished, yawning as he did so, "I'm sure you'll make great parents. When is court again?"

"Day after tomorrow," answered Peter, not commenting on the again part because Neal obviously wasn't at hundred percent yet.

Neal bid everyone, "Goodnight," curled up into a ball, and shut his eyes. As he shifted the little bit he could without hurting himself further, he tried to convince himself that Peter's brown eyes hadn't softened when he'd yawned, that both him and Elizabeth hadn't been staring at him as if he were something ethereal. It didn't take him long to convince himself and, as he passed on into dreamland, chiding himself for imagining things, he barely noticed his covers being drawn up and tightened around him or the three feather-light kisses that were pressed onto his forehead: he didn't notice himself get tucked in after so many years.

…TBC…

Thoughts?

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	6. Two Days and A Few Hours Later

Merry Christmas!! Happy Hanukkah!! Happy Kwanzaa!!! No matter which one you celebrate, here's your present. Right on time, too, I might add. I can't help it, I'm a procrastinator.

Yep, I'm evil because this is a leap, but I swear it's not my fault, its muse, he made me write this…hurt him not me. I will explain everything in later chapters. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this and have a happy holiday. Thank you very much for the great response to the story, it boosts my spirits.

P.S. Reviews are always considered gifts, if you catch my drift. ;)

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 6: Two Days and A Few Hours Later

The tremors in Neal's body increased as he heard the air conditioning come on and he tightened his arms around his bent knees, trying to curl himself into an even smaller ball to make himself warmer. His head rose up uncertainly revealing puffy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks when he heard the creak of the door of the janitor's closet that he had holed himself into only God knows how long ago opening. The sudden light that entered the abandoned little area in the Manhattan Family Courthouse blinded him and he blinked incessantly in order to clear his vision

His arms tightened even further around his knees if that was possible when his vision did clear. _Be careful what you wish for_, he thought when he spotted Peter holding the aforementioned door open with his wife and Mozzie peering over his shoulder. Freeing his right arm from its death grip on his other arm, Neal quickly wiped the tear tracks off of his face, trying his best to not appear weak in front of the Burkes even though he knew that there was nothing he could do about his puffy eyes, and, completely ignoring Elizabeth and Peter, attempted to nonchalantly greet his long-time companion.

"Hey, Mozz," he croaked out, his throat feeling raw. _That's great; my feelings could use the company._ At that moment, Neal's teeth started chattering and his tremors increased exponentially in size. Mozzie, who was the only one who had the guts to face Neal after the events that had taken place in court, pushed past Peter and Elizabeth and made his way to the kid who he considered his own.

"Neal," he sighed upon reaching said kid, who looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes with the fakest smile that he'd ever seen covering his face. He hooked his hands under Neal's shoulders and hoisted him up, hmmpffing when the boy collapsed onto him and widening his stance to occupy him. Neal burrowed his head into Mozzie's shoulder as if looking for protection.

"Neal?" called Mozzie questioningly. He didn't get an answer, "You okay?" This time he got an answer, but in lieu of words he felt the curly head move so that the startling cerulean eyes were visible and capable of staring at him incredulously.

"Okay, stupid question," acknowledged Mozzie, letting the snort that came from the kid who was using him as a human pillow comfort him in the fact that despite recent events the little boy that he'd semi-raised from the age of five was not broken. "Speaking of broken," Mozz mumbled to himself as he shifted Neal so that he was holding him with one arm, then used the other to lift up the corner of the white dress shirt that Neal had worn to court. He turned so that Neal's back was facing the open door and, therefore, Peter and Elizabeth, then looked down at the thick strip of red-stained gauze that was placed over Neal's gunshot wound.

"You've torn your stitches," he told Neal, who didn't reply in anyway, no nod, snort, eye roll, or witty comment. "Neal?" he whispered, the worry apparent in his voice. He reached his hand down to Neal's neck with the intent to shake him gently but changed course when he came into contact with Neal's skin: it was freezing. He moved Neal to his other arm, being careful of his back, so that he could see his face. His skin was pale…paler than usual and his lips were tinged a worrying blue.

"Shit!" he exclaimed despite being one to not regularly swear. His unusual response had caught the guilty parents – Elizabeth and Peter's – attention and, turning to look toward them, he ordered, "Get an ambulance, he's hypothermic."

The next fifteen minutes were a blur to Mozzie, but he distinctly remembered shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Neal, then, with the help of Peter, moving the unconscious teenager outside of the confines of the cold closet. Someone, probably Elizabeth, had called an ambulance, whose paramedics claimed that their ETA was five minutes. Meanwhile, he, Peter, and Elizabeth had huddled themselves around "their" progeny, who was dwarfed in four jackets, the last being the gray, pinstriped one that he had shrugged out of when he had entered the courtroom.

All he remembered from when the paramedics had arrived were the flashes of red and blue light that were visible through the translucent, automatic front door and the feel of Neal's rapid pulse under his fingertip s before he was yanked back. He'd struggled and an EMT, who appeared to be a few years older than Neal, had encouraged, "Sir, you have to stay back and let us do our job: let us help him."

Upon hearing that, he had voluntary stepped back and watched the proceedings in a daze. He'd watched from afar as Neal was hoisted onto a gurney and loaded into the back of ambulance. As one paramedic threw a bunch of blankets over him, while another checked the temperature of an IV before intravenously injecting it into Neal, while yet another had fitted an oxygen mask onto him.

He recalled the same EMT from earlier, the one who'd told him to let them help Neal, coming up to him, Elizabeth, and Peter and reluctantly informing them that only one of them could ride with Neal in the ambulance. In light of Elizabeth's tears, both Peter and Mozzie had made the sacrifice and followed the ambulance to St. Vincent's Hospital with Peter, being the calmer of the two because he was used to such situations, at the wheel.

The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance made it easy to follow and soon Peter and Mozzie were pulling into an empty spot near the ER, while the ambulance pulled up directly to the door. The men quickly exited the car and rushed over to the double doors, where they spotted nurses wheeling an unresponsive Neal, whose hand was gripped tightly between El's, into the ER.

They got to Neal just in time for the double doors to shut in their faces. Mozzie couldn't help but think that this waiting outside worried for news on Neal's condition was becoming a disturbing pattern. The three adults stepped closer to the door in order to peer through the plastic, see-through part of the double doors. They watched as the staff quickly, but gently turned Neal onto his side and turned away politely when they pulled down his pants long enough to take his core temperature. They turned back when they deemed the time to be right and studied the staff's actions vigilantly.

Neal was still lying sideways on the bed, his dress pants pulled all the way up and was getting hooked up to another IV, this time with the nurse inserting a fluid, which Peter's keen eyes determined to be Thermal Angel, into the bag. Another blanket, this time a heated one, was added to the growing pile covering Neal and then the staff was exiting the door, each one walking by the worried party with the exception of the last person to exit the door: an elderly man with a short, scraggly white beard and warm, brown eyes that were somehow accentuated by simple, brown wire-rimmed glasses

…TBC…

Thoughts? If it sucks...I did write it almost at midnight. If it does, tell me and I shall try my best to rewrite it.

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


	7. Out of Line

I know, I know. I'm an awful, awful person for leaving y'all to wait for so long, but I was dabbling in original fiction and it is addictive, but way harder to set up and carry out. I hope I can figure it out the right way to someday become a published writer; advice is freely accepted.

Anyway, here is the next installment of the story…again, I apologize for the wait. If the medical causes are wrong I apologize in advance. Hope you enjoy, love Brownie

**Finding Neal**

Chapter 7: Out of Line

When Neal woke up, he was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, yet still cold; it was like it had seeped into his bones. With great difficulty, he brought his eyes to half mast and then all the way open.

"Mozz?" he called upon seeing the familiar figure zonked out on a chair to his right.

The reaction was instantaneous. Mozzie jumped out of the uncomfortable-looking plastic chair and started fretting. Rearranging Neal's blankets and asking him if he was comfortable, until Neal interjected with a croak, "Water."

"Oh, sorry," exclaimed the balding man, racing for the glass of water. "Here," he said, hoisting Neal up with one hand and feeding Neal water with the other.

"Slow down, you're going to make yourself sick," he admonished when Neal practically inhaled the water.

"Sorry," Neal apologized, shivering as he leaned back into the mattress. He finally noticed his surroundings and swore, "Shit, Mozz. Why am I back here?"

"Watch your language, Mister," scolded a feminine, but firm voice from his left and Neal turned his head to look quizzically at Elizabeth. _Mister? What in the world was that all about?_

He grinned disarmingly at Elizabeth causing her stern expression to melt away, and then glared at Peter when he saw him laughing silently behind his wife's back. That was when the events of the previous day hit him and all he wanted to do was cry and punch the laughter off Peter's face because he couldn't hit Elizabeth for obvious reasons. That being not that she was the woman who had given birth to him, a fact the couple had sprung on him yesterday that had led to him being released into their custody until he turned twenty, but the fact that she was a woman. Neal turned to his long time companion, "Mozz, can you please tell _them_ to leave."

"Neal," Mozz tried to advocate for the Burkes, but their progeny was having none of it.

"No, Mozz. Please." He used his secret weapon, one he'd perfected when he was a child: the puppy-dog eyes, to get Mozz to do his bidding.

Mozzie turned to the Burkes and apologetically said, "You heard the man." Peter and Elizabeth smiled sadly at him and rose. Elizabeth made to place a kiss on Neal's forehead, but her son jerked away, glaring at her. Elizabeth turned away, hiding the tears that came to her eyes and marched out of the room and disappeared from sight.

Peter's temper rose for he, unlike Neal, had seen the tears forming in El's eyes, and, instead of leaving, he moved closer to Neal. He grabbed Neal's arm and turned him around, wrenching a yell from Neal's throat. "What is wrong with you?" he shouted. "All she's done is take care of you, try to be there for you, and this is how you repay her?"

Peter had hoped to shout Neal into submission, but he seemed to have forgotten that Neal was his son and had inherited both his and Elizabeth's stubbornness. He pushed himself up, "Take care of me? Try to be there for me? Is that what you call giving a kid up and telling them along with everyone else that they're your kid? No heads up? Because, if that's what you think parenting is, then you either need to rethink this whole custody thing or take lessons from Mozz."

Peter opened his mouth, but Neal cut him off, "I've been doing just fine for seventeen years without the two of you; heck, you threw me in prison! I got my GED, went to The Cooper Union: a highly, selective college, when I was thirteen and graduated summa cum laude –"

"-and then you got into the world of white collar crimes; yeah, you were doing just fine!" The sarcasm was practically oozing out of Peter.

"Well, I may be a criminal," Neal looked Peter in the eye, "but I'm a better person than you'll ever be because, if _I_ had a kid, I would actually be there for them and _not_ throw them in jail, unlike some people I know." He glared at a speechless Peter, "Now, if you'll excuse me and let me recuperate, I have to go to sleep." Then, without any further ado, he turned his back on Peter, curled up on his side, and shut his eyes, appearing for all intents and purposes as though he had entered Morpheus' realm.

Wide-eyed, Peter exited the room and, once he heard the door slam, Neal jumped up, "Mozz, we've gotta get out of here." He grabbed the clothes that he'd been wearing yesterday and started shrugging them on, then paused when he noticed that his friend and pseudo father figure wasn't moving.

"Mozz?" The short man turned to face his wayward son. "No."

"What?" questioned Neal, staring at Mozzie in befuddlement as he stood with one pant leg of his dress pants on and the other one held in his right hand.

"You heard me; no." Neal opened his mouth to argue, but Mozzie cut him off, "Yes, I know you've graduated high school and college and that you're a better man than I'll ever be because, if you had a kid, you'd stand by him," Neal grimaced, "But you're still a kid; you're still our kid. Yes, Neal, you _are _their kid, they _are_ your parents and you know they care about you, just as much as I do."

"Don't argue," Mozzie ordered, in full parent mode, "You know, I'm right. What you did was just uncalled for; you were hurt and I get that, but you were totally out of line and I've taught you better than to be a total asshole." He paused then went in for the clincher, "Nate and Eve taught you better."

With that, Mozzie too turned and exited the room, leaving Neal alone with his thoughts and the beeping of the heart monitor.

…TBC…

Thoughts? Tell me if this totally disappoints because I can rewrite it. I don't know if that was the right thing for this chapter, but my fingers spoke for me.

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.


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